


Like a Kite on a String

by llyn



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: Drunkenness, Haruki is a flirty drunk, Jealousy, M/M, no anime spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 10:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20338339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyn/pseuds/llyn
Summary: “You think you’re not fuckable? Nobody notices you?” Akihiko's voice was so deep and rumbly that it was good, how immune to it Haruki was. He shivered only from the cold and the embarrassment, too, being manhandled so easily like this, right on the street.





	Like a Kite on a String

The tattoos were Akihiko’s idea. His drunk idea. He was  _ drunk _ , unlike Haruki who was only pleasantly buzzed and  _ not _ drunk. Just  _ buzzed _ , so that the streetlights glowed warm outside in the snow and the flash designs on the walls of the tattoo shop twisted and crawled up towards the ceiling like vines. 

But Haruki wasn’t drunk, only grateful that Akihiko—drunk as _ he _ was—seemed alright with Haruki leaning back against his chest. He was warm and his voice rumbled as he asked a question of the artist. Haruki didn’t bother paying attention, squinting instead at the tattoos on the walls, trying to pin one down with his eyes, but they kept sliding away. 

Akihiko was being so nice. The fingers he curled around Haruki’s hip, under his coat, were nice. It had been nice of him to buy all those shots at the bar. To tell Haruki to call off work, then to pick him up at his house to take him all around town. So nice. Haruki leaned his head back against Akihiko’s shoulder, eyes falling closed. It was almost like a date.

“You? Maybe. Him, no,” the tattoo artist said, his voice blunt, so unlike the calm, tiger-rumble of Akihiko’s against his back. Haruki blinked his eyes open to find a tattooed finger pointed, accusing, at his chest. “He’s wasted.” 

“ _ He’s _ wasted, not me,” Haruki said, pushing away from Akihiko to prove he could stand on his own. “I’m great.” 

“Shh, Haru.” Akihiko reeled him back in, pulling him flush against his body once more, and—unfairly—slipped his hand into Haruki’s hair, silencing any protests to come. Haruki couldn’t  _ think _ when Akihiko played with his hair. “Please?” That voice, so low and rumbly—but Haruki was used to it. It didn’t make him want things that he shouldn’t want, no.  _ Not at all _ . “He only wants something small. It’s his first tattoo. He's nervous.”

“M’ not nervous,” Haruki grumbled. Akihiko’s fingers rubbed little circles on his scalp, making his breath come short, making him whine just a little. Not loud enough for Akihiko to hear. Hopefully. 

Through his half-closed eyes Haru noticed that the tattoo artist was staring at him, rudely, so Haruki stared back in a way he hoped was very sober looking and cool, too. Above it all. Like he could take it or leave it. Which was true, as tattoos were Akihiko’s drunk idea, and he was only willing because he thought Akihiko might think he was sexy if he had one. All the staring he was doing at the artist made the fuzzy clouds in his brain clear for a moment. The artist’s face resolved into a familiar one, surprising Haruki. “Oh. I know you.” 

“Yeah,” the artist’s measuring stare turned into a smile. “Yeah. I remember you, too. From Yoko’s class, right? Your hair’s even longer.”

Haruki’s hand went up to touch it, but Akihiko’s fingers were already there. “Uh huh.”

“I like it.” 

“Thanks.” 

The fingers tangled in his hair, rubbing his scalp so deliciously, stilled. Akihiko could fill a room with his aura, and he was all at once radiating doom and gloom. His hand slid down to the back of Haruki’s neck and squeezed. “Let’s go,” was what he said. 

“What?”

“We’re going.” Akihiko’s hand was around his arm now, tugging. “Sorry for wasting your time.” He threw the words back at the tattoo artist, over his shoulder. Lobbed it, like a grenade. 

“Um, bye! Koichi!” Was that his name? Hopefully. It wasn’t fair, how easily Akihiko tugged him along, like he was flying a kite on a string. The bells on the door jangled as Haruki tripped through. The cold air slapped him and called him drunk. 

“He likes you.” Akihiko said.

Haruki pulled his arm loose from Akihiko’s hard grip and scrunched up his nose, digging for his cigarettes.

Akihiko yanked his furred hood up and crossed his arms, frowning. “Nothing to say?”

“So what if he did? I mean, I’m sure he doesn’t, but—but so what?” 

“You’re so sure he doesn’t? Why’s that?”

“What?” Haruki couldn’t keep up. The sky was gray and dark with snow, which came down all around them, swirling. It was cruel how much colder it was outside than it had been inside, where it had been warm, leaning back against Akihiko. 

Akihiko didn’t repeat himself. Instead he swiped the pack from Haruki’s hands and shook out two cigarettes, lighting them both in his mouth. Haruki got his cigarette and a lifted eyebrow from Akihiko, meaning that he was still waiting. 

“I’m too drunk—” Haruki tried, making a face like this was all very wearisome. 

Akihiko said, “No.”

“Akihiko,” Haruki tried using sweetness to wriggle out of the conversation, which was rare, for him. He blew out smoke, sweetly, and tilted his head. He tried a smile. 

Akihiko said, “Tell me why you’re so sure he’s not into you.”

“Nobody is,” Haruki said. “Ever. You think you’re normal? With everyone falling for you?” He pushed Akihiko for good measure. Passing pedestrians moved out of the way, frowning into their scarves. 

But pushing Akihiko away had a way of bringing him back, and Haruki found himself drawn tight against Akihiko’s body and turned to face his own reflection in the tattoo shop’s broad window. It was the same position they’d been in inside, except this time Haruki was trapped. “Look at yourself,” Akihiko said. 

Haruki looked at his reflection, though he wasn’t happy about it. He thought he looked drunk, more than just buzzed. His face was red. His hair was a mess from Akihiko’s petting. More than that, though, his attention was caught by Akihiko’s arm, clamped strong as wire across his stomach. 

“Look,” Akihiko said. His lips tickled Haruki’s ear. For smokers, they weren’t doing much smoking. Both their cigarettes burned unsmoked in their hands. Haruki’s on the left, and Akihiko’s on the right, until he flicked it into the snow piled up in the gutter to push Haruki’s hair back from his face. “You think you’re not fuckable? Nobody notices you?” His voice was so deep and rumbly that it was good, how immune to it Haruki was. He shivered only from the cold and the embarrassment, too, being manhandled so easily like this, right on the street. “I bet he’s  _ dying _ to fuck you,” Akihiko said. Inside—beyond their reflections—Koichi-from-class watched, confused. “I bet he’d fuck you today if he didn’t think you were with me.” 

Haruki’s heart pounded from this kind of talk. Lethal talk, for his heart. It was a good time to push Akihiko away, but he didn’t. He just stood there, clamped against Akihiko so tight that Akihiko could most definitely feel Haruki’s heart pound. “Nobody thinks that about us,” he said, carefully, to ensure he didn’t reveal that he thought about it, a lot. 

“Why not?”

Haruki whined. He stomped his foot. He hated this. He’d already said it once. No one wanted him. No  _ one _ . It hurt. “I’m not—”

“I’ll  _ make _ him think that about us,” Akihiko growled. He turned Haruki in his arms roughly and kissed him so hard Haruki dropped his cigarette into the snow. It only occurred to Haruki then that Akihiko was jealous of a guy for the crime of having had a class once with Haruki. Or maybe for liking his hair. Either way, Akihiko’s tongue came first. He licked past Haruki’s lips, pushing inside his mouth, insistent. The tickle of the barbell against his own tongue made Haruki’s knees weak, but Akihiko was holding him up, trapping him, wrapped around him, dipping him back like a lover saying goodbye. 

_ Akhiko had said goodbye to plenty of lovers, hadn’t he?  _ Said the mean voice inside Haruki’s head.  _ And hello again. _ And the voice was, as always, right. It meant nothing that Akihiko would kiss Haruki just to prove a point to some stranger. To mark his territory. He was a dog, wasn’t he? A dog Haruki fucking  _ loved _ . He pushed Akihiko away. “Don’t.”

“Fine. Go fuck him if you want to so bad,” Akihiko kicked at the snow like a child, then started to stomp away. Haruki caught up, tugging the back of his coat to make him stop. They made it as far as the next storefront. A new audience watched from inside the window. 

Haruki could taste the kiss. He tried not to. He couldn’t stop tasting it. He could still feel it too, the slip and slither of Akihiko’s pierced tongue. It didn’t count. It wasn’t real. But he could taste it, feel it. “Why are you acting so jealous?” he asked with his hands on his hips. 

“Because I  _ am _ jealous!” Akihiko shouted, scattering pedestrians in a wide circle around them. 

“But I don’t  _ want _ to fuck him! Does that even matter?” 

“ _ No _ ,” Akihiko said. 

“Are you gonna fight everyone I ever went to class with?”

“No,” he said, again, but quieter. His face untwisted. He stuck his hands in his pockets. It was possible he realized what an ass he was, which only made Haruki like him more. Akihiko frowned and lifted his chin. “I’m drunk,” he said, as an apology. 

Haruki scoffed. “You blew your half-assed plan to get tattoos with me cause you got jealous.”

Akihiko shrugged, looking away. His ears were red. 

“And you kissed me,” Haruki said. It was the wrong thing to say. Mean to bring it up. He didn’t care. Akihiko couldn’t just go around kissing him. Not unless it was real.

Akihiko dug in his coat pocket, fetching a new cigarette. He wouldn’t look Haruki in the eye. “The way you were hanging on me in there, I thought—” He didn’t finish. He’d barely said it out loud, to begin with, murmuring with the cigarette unlit between his lips. He lit it. 

Oh. 

Akihiko must’ve read that  _ Oh _ on Haruki’s face. Haruki hadn’t made the connection, how he’d been inside the shop. He’d been—well. Comfortable. Akihiko straightened up, but his ears stayed red. “Usually you pull away when I touch you, so.” 

“I’m—” Haruki felt himself blush. “I’m drunk.”

Akihiko tilted his head, “Is that all?”

“I—” Haruki had nothing to say. He looked to the left and the right, but the people passing in their heavy coats didn’t seem eager to save him. 

Akihiko moved in close. “You liked it.” 

“Aki—” 

“I liked it.” He backed Haruki against the wall. 

“Please—”

Akihiko leaned down to look into his eyes. His were green, like envy, and his fingers came up to pinch Haruki’s chin. “I’d touch you all the time, if you’d let me.” 

“You touch me anyway,” Haruki said. Tried to say. There wasn’t any air left for him to make words. He could only whisper. 

“Let me,” Akihiko said. He moved in slow, too slow, not closing his eyes, even when their foreheads touched. He was never going to kiss Haruki at this slow pace. It would take a lifetime, and Haruki had waited long enough. So he tilted his chin up and kissed Akihiko first. He slid his hands up to Akihiko’s shoulders, closed his eyes and kissed him, shamelessly, right there on the street. Not just because he’d caused this, leading Akihiko on by accident. But because he’d wanted the day to end just like this. 

He’d wanted it from the moment Akihiko appeared at his door with a smile. He’d wanted a date, with Akihiko dressed up just for him, his cologne making Haruki’s mouth water, his hand on Haruki’s thigh at the bar, his fingers sunk in Haruki’s hair, and Akihiko had given it all to him without Haruki needing to ask. Akihiko’s hand slid under his coat, under his sweater, squeezing his waist with his cold, calloused fingertips. Haruki moaned into his mouth. He wanted Akihiko, and always had. So fuck it, he was drunk. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @commandantllyn


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